wish you live like you're made of glass
by hel lokidottir
Summary: [One-Shots] "—and, all he really want is for others to see her as he does." "—he's intrigued by what it means to love; maybe that's what makes him fascinating to her." In which, Vision is doing this to protect her, and Wanda is tormented by thoughts, guilt and confusion. (warning: major spoilers for CACW, language, confusing inner monologue)
1. Chapter 1

**.if you do not like spoilers, please avoid reading this until you have watched the movie**

 **.if you do not mind, go ahead and read**

 **.most grammatical errors and repetitions are on purpose due to wanda's chaotic mind + unstable feelings (headcanon)**

 **.if there is an error overlooked, please feel free to tell**

 **.enjoy**

 _ **the ultrasonic sound waves (1)**_

She feels it before the power could even reach her, vibrating silently yet so strongly in the air. It cuts through space like a knife, rippling and disturbing it with such high-frequency, and she reels and tries to dodg—

—it hit her.

Her breath hitches and her muscles lock and her brain feels like it's been torn and tugged and pulled and it just _hurts and she's screaming and oh god please MAKE IT STOP PLEASE_.

She crumbles down with her head hitting the ground before anything else, and, _**fucking hell**_ , it hurts— _god does it hurt._

Her eyes peek from her lashes, and she sees what was supposed to be the entrance of the jet's storehouse, sealed by the destroyed building. There is an ache in her heart because the Captain and the Winter Soldier could have been buried under piles of cement and metal and rubble, and she could feel herself start shaking from the thought of them dying since she was there and she had enough magic to carry the toppling mass yet she failed and she let it fall and it was all. _Her._ _ **Fault**_ _._

Suddenly, she feels hands, firm and strong, hold her, and she squeezes her eyes as fear claws through her being. Oh no no no no no. 'Enemyenemy _enemy_ _ **enemyENEMY!**_ ' Her mind screams.

She digs her fingers into her palms as she waits for the inevitable pain they would give her. Oh, she's afraid and it is like she's back in that dark cell HYDRA kept her in and _if only Pietro is here to hold her and make the hurt go away and please no stop no more pain no no more—_

"Wanda..."

His voice makes her break down, because he's here— _he's_ here, and she manages to open her eyes to make sure she is not crazy—

And, god, he is so beautiful, and she just stares at him, hoping that this is not something she had made up from being desperate for comfort. He squeezes her forearm gently, making her lean into him—

—yes, this is true and real and he's really here, and maybe she should be happy that he is, but she isn't because she remembers hurting him and burying him more than six feet under and Stark's words still echo in her mind on how hurt Vision was and she just wishes that he would just fly away and leave her alone because goddammit.

She doesn't deserve him.

"Vis."

He stays silent, and it should have worried her that he does not speak as freely as he usually does, but there is a light in his eyes at the sound of her voice and there is a certain intensity in it that makes her realize that he is scanning her for possible wounds she has inflicted. Her lips twitch slightly, because they had already talked about him scanning her body without her consent and he'd promised to ask her but he broke his promise again.

Like he always does.

Then she sees him tilt his head towards the sky, the stone on his forehead glowing bright before it shoots out golden power. She watches it fly before something fell, and she wonders who it could have been. But now, she panics because Sam is the only person in their team who could fly, and she tries to wriggle out of Vision's arms.

"Stay down, please," he says, but it does not do anything to stop her frantic state.

"Sam is ... Sam is shot. Vis, I need to help him!" she pleads, because Sam is family to her, even if he is annoying and irritating, and she does not want any of her family leaving her. "Please."

"I am sorry, Wanda, but I cannot allow you to injure yourself further."

"But, I won't!"

"Moving around when you are clearly not in a condition to do so is considered injuring yourself. And, like it or not, you need to lay down."

She bows her head. She cannot win this argument, because she knows he is right. Her head is still ringing and her limbs are heavy and shaking and, yeah, she is not in the right state right now.

She slumps, sighing as she does.

"Mr Wilson was not the one who had been hit," he says a seconds later, and before she knows it, he carries her from the ground and flies towards a bench, which, she notes, is miraculously saved from the fight. He lays her down carefully, adjusting her head in a comfortable position—and, really, she could cry right now since there's nothing but kindness and softness in his eyes when she expects betrayal and wariness there.

She's goddamn confused, because no one should be this gentle towards her. Not even Vision, the epitome of goodness and innocence, should be this kind. She's the sole reason Sokovia got destroyed, thousands in Wakanda died due to her carelessness, and she fucking _hurt him._

She does not deserve thi—

"I believe you still have enough strength for a last mind reading?"

She blinks. "Y-Yea—"

He cuts her off again. (He keeps doing that, doesn't he?)

"Read mine."

Her mouth slacks at his words, and she tries to sit up to look at him but her numb and tired muscles shout at her to stop moving. She looks at him at the corner of her eyes instead, and watches him standing meters away, with his back facing her. There's a stab in her chest at that.

Read his mind, he says, and so she reluctantly unwinds energy from her fingertips, because there must be something important he wants her to know—or at least, something to explain all this confusion. She feels her red dance and mist in the air, and she cannot help but think that maybe reading and tainting his pure mind with her deep scarlets and crimsons is not worth whatever information he wants her to know and so she pulls away before her magic touches him and she just curls in the bench and closes her eyes and just wishes she could just sleep the pain away.

Cold and feather-like touches caress her skin, "Please."

She hesitates.

"Fine."

 **a/n: so, watched Civil War recently, and well WHAT THE FVCK! it's so perfect Stucky is perfect the heartbreaking Stony is perfect Antman Spidey Tchalla romanogers church hug scene Rhoadeeeey Sammmyyyy Clintttttt all of you fucks are PERFECT (except that Staron kiss tho, completely out of the fucking blue -_-) okay moving along .**

 **SCARLET VISION IS PERFECT I've been dying since AoU for more of this cutie patootie and now I could finally put my fangirling heart to rest (lie) hahahahahaha**

 **Hopefully will update soon**


	2. Chapter 2

**.if you do not like spoilers, please avoid reading this until you have watched the movie**

 **.if you do not mind, go ahead and read**

 **.slightly one-sided conversation and out of characterness due Vision's more silent and confused state of mind + feelings akin to anger and annoyance, + rising tensions and emotions**

 **.if there is an error overlooked, please feel free to tell**

 **.enjoy**

 _ **the Tuesday near-noon breaking news (2)**_

Vision wonders why people see her as if she is the Devil himself; can they not see the kindness and frailty in her eyes and the grace in her walk? Can they not hear the sincerity in her smile and the genuine chime in her laugh? Are they not aware of the brilliance that is her mind and the beauty that is her heart?

Are humans really that _impaired_ to such aspects of her?

"Leave them be, Vis," she would alway tells him. "After all, I have caused them pain. Their anger and fear is understandable."

And he would feel confused, as he would unsurely think, 'I suppose', because, as much as he would want to tell her, he doesn't.

Wanda is already troubled with her own thoughts; if he disagrees and points out that, 'no, those people are reacting quite unjustly,' he knows that those words would add up to the already brimming mind of hers, causing a strain in her mental health.

He does not like that to happen, so he keeps the opinion— _fact,_ really—to himself. That does not mean he is fine with all the very negative review the media says about her.

So, as he brings a spoon of what appears to be a significant part of humanity's day-to-day diet to his mouth (or that's what the advertisements portray cereals as anyway, though, it seems to him that they are rather exaggerated), he faintly bristles in indignation at the headline written on the television screen in Helvetica font.

 **Scarlet Witch: Comrade or Menace?**

He tunes out the platinum-blonde reporter, and focuses instead on the background. Hundreds of people, bruised and swollen-skinned protesting, signs and boards filled with scribbles in both English and Wakandian in their hands and hanging around their necks, as they shout profanities against the Avengers: of how they are quite useless, of how they act so recklessly, of how they caused more damage to property than the villains had—

—of how Wanda is dangerous, of how her powers killed and hurt thousands, of how she is not deserving to be called a Hero for what she had done, of how she is an offspring of the Devil and she should _burn in—_

The television is turned off before the sentence could be finished.

"For moment, I was beginning to think that you liked seeing angry people."

Mr Stark.

"That is, until I saw how freaked out you are." He heard the rhythmic taps of Mr Stark's footfalls drawing closer, until he heard the scraping of metallic chair legs on the floor and the soft thump as Mr Stark flops into the seat.

"Freaked out," Vision says slowly. He does not exactly understand the term well (it has only been a year, and he is still trying to come into full understanding of the Mind Stone and all the humane characteristics it seems to have), but he does admit that he feels somewhat ... 'freaked out', although, he can also detect a much more stronger emotion intermingled with it. He just can't pinpoint what that certain emotion is. It's quite strange. "How so, Mr Stark?"

He looks as the Iron Man coughs, and settles deeper into the chair. "Well, for starters, your hand is hell-bent on breaking that spoon—"

He shifts his gaze into his hands, and well, Mr Stark isn't lying when he said he was about to break the silverware, a puddle of milk and scattered honey-glazed bits of food on the table. What a mess. He eases his hold, and places it back into the bowl.

"—and, this was the first time you've looked at me, and not at the TV, frozen," Tony says, eyebrows scrunched, "Weird, it's like you saw a ghost or something. Wait, do you even believe in ghosts? Dumb, question, I know. New one: are ghosts real? Since you have that Gem of Knowledge on your head, I'm guessing you'd know the answer to that. That's just a guess though. But, seriously, if ghosts are real, tell me, 'cause there's this dead couple who got in an accident, hmm, well, twenty-four years ago, and I need to tell the lady ghost something—for a friend of mine. And, I've got a bone to pick with the guy ghost."

He couldn't talk—he is having a hard time in registering the rant, and it feels so strange not being able to have an understanding of what had just been told to him.

"But, you could answer me that later," Tony starts once again, and when Vision looks at the Iron Man, there is a particular look in his eyes that makes him look like a concerned father. Quite ... _strange._ "I'm more worried about you eating those at this hour. Who told you that it's fine to eat Cheerios at _eleven o'clock?_ No, don't tell me. It was Sam, isn't it? That birdbrain."

Vision tilts his head to the side. "I ... do not think it matters what time we could eat such food as this. There had been no specifics on the box, and I have, at many occasions, found Captain Rogers and Mr Rhodes eat it at a much later time." But, then, he had not really checked the box thoroughly, and might have a caution to how many times, on when and how to eat it. Almost all human food has at least one rule to it.

...

Oh, dear.

"Mr Stark, is it right for me to uhh ...?" He gestures to the bowl of probably soggy flakes. Tony arches an eyebrow, before sighing. There is a deepness in his eyes again and in the lines set in his skin, and Vision just stares because, somehow, an image of a man—lost in the programmes and files of what he realizes as JARVIS—emerges.

 _Slightly graying hair_. Vision remembers how he dyes it at least every month.

 _Angled jaws, chiselled nose._ Vision remembers how he loves saying that he's "frustratingly handsome".

 _Thick eyebrows._ Vision remembers how soft the eyes are as he gazes at his son.

Stark. Howard Stark.

Vision remembers, yet also not.

A sound brought him back to Tony, whose mouth is sealed in a thinking line. "You're distracted," he points out, and runs a hand through his face, "I didn't know you can get distracted."

'Neither did I,' Vision thinks.

"As for you eating that anytime is fine, I was just trying to mess with you. But, apparently, I messed you up a little too much," Tony says. A pause. "It wasn't about the food, was it? Nor was it about the whole ghost thing, I could tell. So, what is it?"

Vision hesitates, and gathers the words he need.

"Is ... Are you afraid of Wanda, Mr Stark?" A sharp intake of breath, and Vision wonders if he should have worded it out a little. "A lot of people seem to be angry at her, but I assume their fear has more play in it, so I was just wondering if you are afraid of her. You do seem a bit tense around her."

Tony shifts in his seat, and props his elbows on the table, chin on a fisted hand. "I'm not afraid of her, really, just _still_ slightly angry. After all, mind-control is not cool, and she made Brucey go entirely Hulk. But, she has potential, and I'd rather she be an Avenger than someone who's against us. So, yeah, I'm not scared of her. But, I am scared—scared that her powers may haywire and do much much more destruction."

"She won't," Vision tells him with no hesitancy. Why would he be hesitant when he knows that she would never do such a thing?

Tony nods. "I know she won't, but she's not 'in tune' with her powers yet, is she?"

"Well, she's trying ..."

"And, I'm glad, but trying is not enough," Tony shakes his head. Vision stays silent, because he knows that Tony is right. And, sadly so. "Look, I'm not saying that it's only Wanda, okay? _All_ Avengers have fucked up at least once or twice, and people are scared we might fuck up again. And, that's why I'm here, to tell everyone that we could prevent that from ever happening. No more unwanted casualties, no more hurting innocent people. But, I need to speak with all of you—Steve, especially. Speaking of Cap, kindly tell him I'm here. I'm pretty sure he's too busy being a good patriotic citizen of America somewhere in this compound."

Vision looks at Tony again, and he doesn't know what emotion he is currently feeling. There is a blossoming in his chest, a weight lifted from his shoulders and a tingling in his limbs. All these sensations would usually fascinate and worry him, but, at this moment, he does not care.

There is a chance people would finally see Wanda—the _real_ Wanda, and not the Wanda everyone else thinks she is.

And, that's all that matters.

 **a/n: soooo, this took longer than expected . i was toying with an idea for a romanogers fic and got distracted, sorry. also reason for lateness is my laziness, sorrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyy haha. and due to both, this chapter is a little topsy-turvy and I'm not even sure how it ended this when it was at first, not supposed to end this way ugh -_- I'll revise this later on, sorry, and might take away a lot of parts of it (although I do like the little TonyVision interaction sooo also there was supposed to be Vision's reply before the ending but I was already okay with the ending right there. I'll do a little bonus on the hopefully-soon revision of this then hahahah ... so I guess I won't take a lot of parts after all) also yea I couldn't decide what to call Tony, so I threw in Mr Stark, Iron Man and Tony sorry if that confusing .**

 **Whoo, long note.**

 **I LOVE YOU GUYS! I didn't think a lot would appreciate this since well, it's not even that written well but oh guys thank you so so much! (that's really all I can say because wow, I'm not used to this and I'm just so happy)**

 **(also I probably should've said this at first chap. the whole story's theme song is 5AM by Amber Run, thus the title which is a phrase of the song. Amber Run is just perfect for Scarlet Vision so if you're planning to write a fic about them, try listening to some of their songs :3)**


	3. Chapter 3

_**there is no order here (3)**_

He had always liked the quietness of a lonesome, and how a natural peace would drift over them. It felt right to see such a serenity, so he had never really understood the pain in their eyes and the hurt in their heart. _It is peaceful, isn't that what humans want?_ Although it is bothersome to be alone, it never occurred to him that it would upset people.

After all, there is order in being company with only one's self and that order is what the Avengers are trying to achieve.

—so why does the silence suffocate him so?

His hands find release in the sheets, his fingers twisting and turning the hem of the soft blanket, and he does not understand how the action makes him more restless. The cool spring breeze flutters in through the opened windows, kissing his skin and relieving him somewhat from the too much hotness he feels.

The relief is short-lived, however, as the breeze fades leaving him to suffer once more. He sucks in a breath through his teeth—he tastes ashes and dirt and red and crimson and scarlet and he is forced into recent memories of strong spices and beautiful laughter and warm understanding and—

 _"Mr Stark wants to avoid another public incident until the accords are on a more secure foundation."_

 _Disbelief in her parted mouth. Hurt vividly painted on her face. Stiff briskness in her walk._

He jumps from the bed, bare feet landing loudly on the floor, his fingers releasing the blanket into the carpeted ground. The emptiness in his hands did not make better his restlessness, rather, there is a want—no, a _need_ to curl his fingers tight and dig his fingernails into his palms, and _yes he knows it is irrational and desperate but it just feels_ so right _to do so and he would rather do that than spen—_

...

Then, he finds himself standing before the mirror, all thoughts leaving him at the sight of his own reflection.

He had never seen himself so ... **beaten.** He does not know whether to be fascinated or worried at the thought as he raises a hand to ghost over the wide vividly colored ache on his bare chest, a deep purple ink that seems to seep into his very fibers. Mottled mass of burnt flesh he finds along the curves of his legs and in the sides of his waist and the nook of his neck, red synthetic things bubbling like faint froth and spilling short yet heavy drips of dark crimson paint from each damage inflicted upon him.

Doctor Cho had immediately ordered the small staff of fellow colleagues and medically trained people to ready the facility's own Cradle after she had witnessed him phasing from the ground and dropping down as he solidifies. But as she kneels to look at the whole extent of his injuries, he starts to think of calloused and strong hands from years in the sun and the dirt and hard labor and _bows and arrows and guns._

 _ **Do not go near me.**_

He only has enough time to see Mr Stark arrive in his iron suit, with the War Machine trailing behind, a startled look on both of their faces, before he flies away to the confines of his room.

That was an hour ago.

"I am—" he cuts himself off, the words sounding as bitter as rich and hot coffee tastes. The face in front of him copies his lips, moving with soundless words and sighs of breath. He tries to think for sweeter words—for honey and milk things to say, but his mind is suddenly a blank slate, and he does not like that.

"I am ... Uh. Am I—am I at wrong?" he hears his voice say, and he instantly recoils in shock.

There is not 'nothing' in it. No, no. There is actually something more than the empty metal tone that he finds himself hearing in his incoherent mumbling for the recent hour, and it startles him into a jump because _fearrageregretfearfear_ _ **doubt.**_

He gasps.

He had long suspected that there is an empathic power of the Mind Stone, as he had felt so much emotions that should be foreign to such a synthetic being such as him.

He knows what fear feels like when he had seen the vulnerability in Ultron's steel eyes. He knows what rage feels like when he had seen Doctor Banner's calm eyes look at Wanda with his jaws locked tight. He knows what regret feels like when he had seen Mr Stark drink himself into a miserable stupor after Miss Potts had left.

But, the strongest one is doubt—he does not even know why he could identify it. In all the days of his existence, there is not a single drop of dubiousness or uncertainty. There is only clarity and firmness of Captain Rogers, wit and understanding of Miss Romanoff, humor and patience of Mister Wilson, wisdom and exasperation of Mister Rhodes, eagerness and unity of all the agents in the compound. (Wanda is full of emotions and thoughts too, but she is the exception, as her powers amplify her instability and he does not know whether the emotions he senses from her are real or not.) There is no room for doubt, not here in the presence of all the members of the Avengers' Initiative where trust and faith lives.

He does not know why he knows it is doubt, but after a moment's contemplation, he finds himself not minding. At least, he tells himself, he knows what he is doubting.

Loyalty, although it is a very precious value to give and to be given to, is a fickle thing. With just enough factors, one could switch sides easily, betraying the other for a previous enemy.

Wanda.

The idea of harming her makes his skin crawl. He will fight everyone and anything, but not Wanda. She does not deserve that kind of pain—she does not deserve any kind of pain, for that matter. She had gone through hell for more than twice, he will not let her go through that again.

He wants to set her free.

But—

He looks at his nakedness and the wounds and the burns and the bruises and the ache and the hurt and the _**red.**_

—she is Power in its rawest form, the most unpredictable Force which will not be tamed so easily. Like a raging forest fire, she cannot be controlled.

She is Chaos incarnate.

 _And he cannot let that flame devour and make ashes the forest._

He will fight for the good of all.

"I am sorry, Wanda," he says. "But, I will do what I must. For your sake."

He will do this for her.

Loyalty is such a fickle thing, indeed.

 **a/n: i am very sorry for the long delay of updates. i hadn't been in the mood for writing, but i owed you guys a lot for your shows of support for this story and i supposed that this chapter, which I had started writing three weeks ago but never had the motivation to finish until now, is passable to you guys. i am very sorry though if you find it confusing, and i will do my hardest the next chapter.**

 **one reason why Vision is suddenly bombarded with thoughts and emotions is because when Wanda had used her powers directly into the Mind Stone to free Clint from Vision's hold, she accidentally let loose some of the "emotion-y" power that it has. or that's what i would like to think anyway**

 **i will publish the romanogers fic right after i am done editing it, which would be sometime this week or early next week. also, if you don't mind me shamelessly advertising and love PepperOni, please check my story** maybe if I tell myself enough, maybe if I do **that is if you guys like.**

 **to Jenna (guest): thank you very much for your kind review! and i will surely post it soon.**

 **feedback is very much appreciated**


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